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Sorrow (Third revision. Still need help to get it right.)

When you were yet a child, so dear to me,
tummy flat upon the rug, finger on a book
to read the lines, your lips a babbling brook,
my heart went out to you, my busy bumble-bee.

I loved those hours, filled with joyous play,
loved your curly hair and sturdy limbs
so quick your favorite branch to climb.
There were no better times or happier days

that now I sit beside your arms upon the quilt,
so motionless, their lifeline out of symmetry,
and cannot grasp the ingrate chronology,
must hide my face awhile, with tears of guilt.

Yet still I marvel at the gallant spirit in you,
understand the battle in those dimming eyes
and guess your nameless sorrow, the solitude,
youth’s body wasted frail his soul to heaven rise.

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I appreciate moderate constructive criticism
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
Last few words: 
I wrote this for my son Patrick, who died of ALS, aged 29 years.
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content

Comments

Have a look, i've left in brackets read it through and see for yourself if you may like the idea of fresh eyes.

When you were (just a) child, so dear to me,
tummy flat upon the rug, finger on a book
to read the lines, your lips a babbling brook,
my heart (did melt), my busy bumble-bee.
I loved those hours, filled with joyous play,
loved your curly hair and sturdy limbs
so quick your favorite branch to climb.
There were no better times or happier days
that now I sit beside your arms upon the quilt,
so motionless, their lifeline out of symmetry,
and cannot grasp the ingrate chronology,
I must hide my face awhile, (and all my)tears of guilt.
Yet still I marvel at the gallant spirit in you,
(understanding) the battle in those dimming eyes
and guess your nameless sorrow, the solitude,
youth’s body wasted frail his soul to heaven rise.

i just love your work.

Thank you...Teddy

with your endearing poem Gracy, I hope you don't mind too much. I think that you must keep your poem design four squared (four stanzas of 4 lines each). Each stanza is a different chapter of the story. You have exactly the right length of read for this poem in my view.
The rhyme scheme works so well here, abba and so on, so you should maintain that scheme at all costs. (Why not join Scribble's new rhyming workshop?). You have drifted away from that a little I see. Rhyme is so very important in this (master)piece as it is essentially centred around a child. Forget all about 'near rhyme' here, it needs to be better than that.
Filled with nice endearing words and phrases stanza 3 explodes into a more complex language and, for me, does not work so well (sorry). It reads to me as though a different hand has stepped in for this stanza.
I have re-worked things a little and hope that it may help you in some small way (I have used a crescendo to close line 3, stanza 3, by placing a '!' there. Line 4 can then be read just a little softer).

When you were yet a child, so dear to me;
Tummy flat upon the rug, tiny finger on a book
To read the lines, laughing lips a babbling brook;
My heart went out to you, my busy little bumble-bee.

I loved those hours, filled with joyous play:
Loved your curly hair, your limbs so hale,
So quick your favourite branch to scale ~
There was no finer time ~ nor gladsome day.

That now I sit beside your arms (upon the quilt)
So motionless, their lifeline void of form,
And cannot grasp the ingrate storm!
I must hide my face awhile, behind tears of guilt.

I understand the fray in those dimming eyes
Yet I still marvel at the gallant spirit within you
And guess your nameless sorrow, your solitude too,
Youth's body wasted frail, his very soul to heaven rise.

.......................................
Critique is a compliment
Kind regards, Alan
.......................................

I am sorry that your child died. Even as they turn old our children are still our children. I didn't read over the above ideas so if some of mine mimic theirs it is by accident. Here are my ideas:

When you were still a mere child, so dear to me,
lying flat upon the rug, finger on a book
reading the lines, your lips a babbling brook,
my heart went out to you, my busy bumble-bee.

I recall those hours, filled with joyous play,
loved your curly hair and sturdy limbs
so quick to climb or clutch at my skirts; hems
There were no happier times or better days.....(for some reason switching these two just seems better)

But now I sit beside your arms upon the quilt,
so motionless, their line now out of symmetry,
and cannot grasp the cruel chronology,
must hide my face awhile, with tears of guilt.

Yet still I marvel at the gallant spirit of you,
understand the battle behind dimming eyes
as toward heaven your no more frail body rises
for your limbs are now both strong and new

I realize that this is likely not going to be taken word for word but, rather, just as an attempt to show an alternative

So hard t9l imagine that, sorry to discover the loss of your child.

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Raywhitakerblog.wordpress.com
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I haven't lost a child, although there has been a close call; but I wanted you to know that you have brought the pain so close, that I can quite imagine it. I also can feel the warmth of remembering his presence. I have nothing to add to the heart-felt advice that the others have given. I also wish to offer my condolences. ~ Geez.
.

Announcing the new chatroom! I will be hosting a chatroom on Saturday nights
from 8pm until 9pm [EST] this coming Saturday. Stop in and
shoot the breeze with the Geez. Our Chatroom is open 24/7
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Hi, Gracy,
Beautiful poetry as seen through a mother's eyes. Thank you for sharing this.
xx
L

1st stanza 3rd line what if you were to add (were ) babbling brook
4th line to watch my busy bumblebee bee2nd stanza 2nd line
the wonder of your sturdy limbs
and I cannot grasp

spirit of you

these are my suggestions take them or leave them as you wish

Chrys

check out our chat room open to all 24/7

Hi, all of you, thank you so much for helping me out. There are many great suggestions, so I'll have to go back to my Word.doc and paste everything there, before I can see what works best. Back soon, Gracy

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

author comment

I also want to thank all of you for your condolences. Patrick died some years ago, but a loved one remains always in one's heart.
Bless you all, Gracy

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

author comment

Oh dear, I apologize for not revizing my poem yet. You've all been so helpful and kind.
I'll return and work on it as soon as my muse helps me to discern better.
Kindest regards to all, Gracy

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

author comment

Remember that it can take years to feel comfortable with such a write, it is so deeply personal and of course it has to sit very comfortably with you. I would say leave it to rest for a few weeks even months you will find the inspiration you need, when you least expect it in the end, so never rush it. It's ok that it is not perfect in your eyes and only you know, when it is. We are indeed a workshop but that doesn't mean you have to choose anything we show you, it's a poem about someone so special and one day I promise you will find every perfect word. A big hug to you.

Thank you...Teddy

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